He shifted the body of the girl to his left arm, and holding her like a shield, pistol drawn, began to edge by
Ricori. Ricori thrust him away. His own automatic leveled, he stepped over the threshold. I followed
McCann, the two gunmen at my back.
I took a swift glance around the room. The doll-maker sat at her table, sewing. She was serene,
apparently untroubled. Her long white fingers danced to the rhythm of her stitches. She did not look up at
us. There were coals burning in the fireplace. The room was very warm, and there was a strong aromatic
odor, unfamiliar to me. I looked toward the cabinets of the dolls.
Every cabinet was open. Dolls stood within them, row upon row, staring down at us with eyes green and
blue, gray and black, lifelike as though they were midgets on exhibition in some grotesque peepshow.
There must have been hundreds of them. Some were dressed as we in America dress; some as the